Darkly Dreaming
by October'sEnd
Summary: After many years of abuse, Harry is jaded. But upon receiving his Hogwarts letter, Harry is enchanted with both the dark grace of the Slytherins, and the enduring bravery of the Gryffindors. Which will he choose? Dark!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

**Darkly Dreaming**

**Summary**  
Upon receiving his Hogwarts letter, Harry is enchanted with both the dark grace of the Slytherins, and the enduring bravery of the Gryffindors. Which will he choose? Abused!Dark!Harry. AU.

**Chapter One**

Harry reached out to the gleaming silver tray for a cookie, and missed, knocking his tall glass of milk over the edge of the table. The glass exploded when it hit the kitchen floor, spraying glass shards and frothy white milk everywhere. Harry jumped back in his seat and threw his hands over his face, knowing he was going to get hit, and knowing there was nowhere he could hide.

"I'm sorry," Harry cried, but it was too late.

The damage was done. Uncle Vernon hated spills, and he especially hated it when the cups smashed. Harry heard the crunch of glass beneath Uncle Vernon's feet as he stood up and dragged Harry up to a standing position by his elbow. Harry let his quivering arms down and reluctantly opened his face up for his uncle, his eyes closed and his head tilted up as if he were basking in warm sunlight.

Uncle Vernon's hand shot out like a snake descending on its prey and slapped Harry hard, the loud crack of a large man's hand on a child's cheek echoing through the kitchen. Harry gasped and turned his face to his uncle again, waiting for the next. He wasn't disappointed. Uncle Vernon pulled his arm back and delivered a stinging roundhouse punch, making Harry stagger back a few steps.

And then it was over. Uncle Vernon returned to his seat without a sound and sat down, calming sipping his afternoon tea with his wife and son. A thick silent hung in the air as Harry trembled and fell to his knees to sweep the glass shards away with a small broom. His fingers shook as they picked at the pieces. Harry's face throbbed, but something else hurt too. There was something deeply humiliating about getting beat in front of your family, only to have to bend down and pick up the broken pieces while they sat around in a circle drinking tea and eating scones.

Harry returned to his seat after sweeping and sullenly stared down at the grainy table, willing himself not to touch his fresh bruises. After a minute of tracing the grooves in the breakfast table, Harry looked up at the faces of his family.

Uncle Vernon reached out and clasped a beefy hand around Dudley's throat, and slammed him into the table. Scones and small sandwiches flew through the air and crumbled on the kitchen tiles as Dudley's terrible keening noises reached an inhuman volume. Aunt Petunia shrieked in the background, her freshly manicured nails raking bloody trails down her cheeks as she witnessed her son go blue in the face. Dudley went limp on the table, and Aunt Petunia reached out with a trembling hand to his still warm skin, before shrieking again and shaking his body back and forth, back and forth. He flopped like a dead fish, his glassy eyes staring mutely up at the ceiling.

Harry quickly blinked and cocked his head to the side. Aunt Petunia was listening attentively to Uncle Vernon's story as Dudley piled more butter cookies onto his small plate.

No blood. No dead fishes.

* * *

Back in his cupboard, Harry shivered at the images he saw. Whenever that happened, the events felt real. Not real as in, I had a dream. But real as in it actually happened. It used to disturb him, but not anymore. This wasn't the first time. They started two years back after Harry suffered through a particularly severe beating, convulsing on the floor as his body ached in places Uncle Vernon didn't even touch. Now, Harry stood to attention and received every blow in defeat, before retreating to a dark crevice of his mind where he saw the Dursleys die in various ways.

Harry thought that he probably needed to see a therapist. He knew all the beatings and the mistreatment was getting inside his brain, like a virus that refused to leave. He wasn't stupid. He realized normal ten-year-olds got bikes for Christmas and received pats on the back for good work.

Not Harry, though. Never Harry.

---

**Next Up:** Harry gets his Hogwarts letter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Darkly Dreaming**

**Summary**

After many years of abuse, Harry is jaded. But upon receiving his Hogwarts letter, Harry is enchanted with both the dark grace of the Slytherins, and the enduring bravery of the Gryffindors. Which will he choose? Dark!Harry.

**Chapter Two**

Harry woke up with a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, twisting like a bag of anxious worms. It was days like this when Harry knew he should hide in the cupboard, curled away from Uncle Vernon's fury. Only the fear of getting belted for trying to "dodge chores" made him cautiously exit his dark cupboard, his eyes wandering warily through the halls, looking for the familiar shape of a great big whale.

He went to the kitchen and started to cook a huge, oily, unhealthy breakfast – just the way the Dursleys preferred it. The first mistake of the day was trying to serve Uncle Vernon bacon straight from the sizzling frying pan. The hot piece of bacon dropped from his spatula and landed on his lap. Uncle Vernon leapt up with a yell and backhanded Harry across the face, overlapping his bruise from yesterday.

Harry bit back a cry and fought to keep the pan steady in his hands. After catching his breath, Harry continued to serve breakfast, and then sat down. He tentatively reached out for a piece of toast, and seeing that no one was going to object, he quickly snatched it and dropped it onto his plate. He always tried to eat healthier food than the Dursleys, and always ate less than them, because he feared he would grow to their colossal size. He was skinny and light, which he preferred. He could run further and longer than his Uncle, if he ever wanted to.

"Get the post, boy." Uncle Vernon snapped, without looking up from his newspaper.

Harry took one last nibble before slipping away from the kitchen and into the hallway. There was a stack of letters by the doorway. Usually Harry didn't look through them, assuming there was nothing for him (why would anyone send post to _him?_) and just dutifully delivered them straight to Uncle Vernon. But from beneath the pile of letters, Harry caught a glimpse of color. Harry could see the corner of a green envelope. How unusual. Harry looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking, and then quickly pulled the letter out. He glanced at the front and was surprised to find his name. To Mr. Harry Potter. _The Cupboard under the Stairs._

Harry's jaw dropped. _The cupboard under the stairs. _Who were these people? How did they know he slept underneath the stairs? Harry shivered at the thought of Uncle Vernon finding out that someone knowing about Harry's "room". He would instantly blame Harry for sprouting nonsense to adults, when Harry knew perfectly well never to tell anyone anything.

Making a quick decision, Harry folded the envelope in half and stuffed in into his oversized pocket.

---

Up Next: What's Hogwarts?


	3. Chapter 3

**Darkly Dreaming**

**Summary  
**After many years of abuse, Harry is jaded. But upon receiving his Hogwarts letter, Harry is enchanted with both the dark grace of the Slytherins, and the enduring bravery of the Gryffindors. Which will he choose? Dark!Harry.

**Chapter Three**

Harry's earliest memory of pain was associated with the bath tub. It was the day he got his first bare-back beating, which resulted in some broken skin. He could remember the gleam in Uncle Vernon's eyes as he held Harry down and stripped him raw with a belt. But there was also something behind Uncle Vernon's eyes – more than just a desire to hurt Harry or punish Harry – but a desire to get rid of something, as if hitting him enough would expel the ugly, horrible demon inside of him.

Then that night, Harry was forced to take a hot bath. That was when the real pain began. Sure, getting whipped was painful, but having the seemingly harmless water touch his skin was like being _torched alive_. The open wounds screamed, and Harry sobbed in the tub, pleading for Aunt Petunia to take him out, but she refused. What was worst was that she had the same look in her eyes too.

Harry could never figure out what it was that they were trying to take away. He thought he was a nice enough boy, a quiet boy. He had little to say, asked for even less, and complied with all of their wishes – forcefully asked for or not. But as Harry clutched the mysterious letter in his hand as he soaked in the bath tub, he finally knew what it was.

They were trying to take away his _magic._

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**_

_**Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore**_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**_

_**Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.**_

_**Yours Sincerely,  
****Minerva McGonagall**_

Harry's first thought as he read the roll of parchment was that it was the most poorly written letter he had ever seen. What is "Hogwarts" and where is this "school" located? Where do you buy your supplies? What can wizards and witches really do? What is their magic limited to? If you have a question, how do you write back? What if you didn't own an owl?

The questions swirled around his head madly, his brows furrowed together in a deep frown. Who was Albus Dumbledore? How important was he? How big was the "wizarding" world anyway?

The letter answered none of his questions. He was sure other people had to have similar questions as well. It never even crossed his mind that the letter could be a fake. He had never told a soul about where he slept, and the Dursleys sure as hell didn't tell anyone either. It was logical that the "school" had found out his exact location through magic.

The revelation that he possessed magical powers explained all the strange and odd things that had ever happened in his life. He felt relief flood through his sore body, happy to realize he wasn't a _freak, _but he also felt betrayed. His own magic had gotten him into more trouble than he could count. Every unexplainable event that had ever occurred in the Dursleys household ended up with a badly injured Harry.

The memories rushed through him in short scenes. Every punishment he had ever received because something weird had happened. Slaps to the face. Backhands. Cuffs to the head. Belt buckle to the back. Kicks and punches. Humiliation.

Suddenly Harry got a sick, heaving feeling in his stomach, imaging what the Dursleys would do if they found out that he got accepted into a magical school. They would throw him in the _basement, _forget the cupboard, and chain him to the corner like a bloodthirsty animal hungry for human flesh. They would reduce him to a growling savage through slow torture. "Where's your nephew, Harry Potter?" someone would ask, curious about his sudden absence. "Oh, he's a little delinquent. He's at a special school for troubled boys now," they'd respond. Everyone would shrug and accept the perfect suburban family's explanation. Why suspect them of child abuse?

Gagging, Harry dropped the letter and watched stoically as it floated to the surface of the water. The ink instantly splotched, staining the perfect, clear water around the parchment blue.

* * *

It took two days for the next letter to arrive. Harry wasn't surprised another one came. He was just thankful that he was outside in the garage organizing the toolbox, instead of inside the house with Aunt Petunia. He was thankful because this time, instead of coming through the post, the letter came swooping down in the form of Owl Post.

The owl landed on the fence by the open garage door and pecked at the wood, trying to catch Harry's attention. Harry looked up at awe in the owl, as he had never seen one before in real life, and offered his arm for the owl to hop onto. It did, and offered its leg to Harry.

Harry unknotted the string holding the letter to the owl's leg and pocketed the letter. No need to read it twice, he already knew what it said.

"Wait here," Harry whispered, unsure whether or not the owl would understand, and dug around the storage closet for the extra school supplies the Dursleys kept around for Dudley. He found a pen, and a single piece of paper, and quickly scribbled a letter.

**_Mrs. _**_**McGonagall**_**_:_**

**_My name is Harry Potter and I recently received a Hogwarts letter. I have many questions I would like to ask about the wizarding world and the school. Would there be a way to meet someone to answer my questions? Please contact me through the regular post, if that's no trouble._**

**_Sincerely,  
Harry Potter._**

Harry read over it, chewing on his lip uncertainly, then restrung the letter to the owl's leg. He gave it one last pat on the head before letting it fly off. He returned the pen to the exact position he found it in, and returned to his toolbox.

Ever since last night when he read the letter in the bathroom, he had been constantly worrying about the Dursleys stopping him from going. He was bursting with questions that begged more questions, and he knew that his life would feel incomplete without getting a chance to understand his magic.

How would he convince the Dursleys to let him go? And then he thought of another worry. How would he pay for his school supplies? Perhaps he could get tested and convince the school that he was academic enough to receive a scholarship? Shaking his head, Harry closed the toolbox with a sigh.

* * *

The very next day, the bell rang around noontime.

---

Sorry readers, for not being able to write long chapters. I promise I'll try though.

**Up Next:** Who's at the FRONT DOOR?


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